


June 15th

by disgraced author (tobeaskeleton)



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, Friends to Lovers, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 17:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20838974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tobeaskeleton/pseuds/disgraced%20author
Summary: It was June fifteenth again. Eddie was leaning against his elbow, looking through the open car window at the desert planes of Arizona. To an unknowing viewer, he might have looked sad or forlorn. But it wasn’t that. He was just thinking. Thinking about June fifteenth.-Reddie road trip filled with angst and pining.





	June 15th

It was June fifteenth again. Eddie was leaning against his elbow, looking through the open car window at the desert planes of Arizona. To an unknowing viewer, he might have looked sad or forlorn. But it wasn’t that. He was just thinking. Thinking about June fifteenth.

Eddie always had a thing with dates, appointments. He kept a journal of sorts- more of a journal/planner hybrid- where he kept track of events with small notes after of how they went.

12/25/94 - Christmas day.  
Mom cried. Got money in the mail from Auntie.

1/13/95 - Drive in with Ben, Bev, and Bill  
Forth-wheeled for all of the classic Dracula and slept through Psycho

1/14/95 - Chores, pick up meds  
Richie climbed through window again. 

And then a scribbled out:

I wish I knew why. 

Eddie wishes he knew why. He wishes he knew why he was with Richie halfway across the country in a shitty pickup truck that was on its last leg. 

The journal thing. Richie thought it was some sort of weird, OCD habit that Eddie’s mother had taught him. And maybe, Eddie mused, it did start that way, marking down doctor’s visits and a list of all his prescribed medication. But it shifted overtime. Became a way not to forget. 

A way not to forget little details. They meant more. Richie climbed through my window, also meant, and he looked at me for one tense moment, really looked at me, and didn’t laugh it off afterwards. And a wave of guilt washed over me when I felt something. 

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, Eds?” Richie asked, taking a hand off the wheel to poke Eddie’s upper arm. 

“Something,” Eddie replied, lazily. The desert heat was making his brain dry up. 

“What’s something?”

“Do you know what day it is?”

“No.”

“It’s June fifteenth.”

Richie paused, taking a right turn to finally be greeted with some small houses, specks in the distance, rather than sand.

“Are you okay, Eds?”

“Mmmhmm.”

“Are you sure? Because you’re not even mad at me for calling you Eds. And, in general, you’re not the least bit pissy. You’re always pissy.”

“I’m not that pissy,” Eddie sighed. He sat up straight to look at Richie.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” Richie said. “I like that about you.” He glances over at Eddie but looks back at the road when their eyes meet. “Maybe I have, like, a pain fetish-”

Eddie pinches Richie’s arm to shut him up.

“-ow! Yeah, kind of like that.” The moment is broken. It was something Eddie hated about Richie. All the countless times he would be faced with something real, something real to Eddie, and then he would just laugh about it. Like there was some big joke Eddie wasn’t privy to.

Like when Eddie was sixteen, and he finally told Richie how he had tried-

Tried to makeout with Alissa on Bill’s dumb double date idea, and she was a nice girl, but he felt so wrong doing it that he cried. Cried in front of her while Bill and his date were downstairs still watching the movie. And the first person he told was Richie. Why? And of course there was that moment where Richie looked like he was on the verge of saying something comforting when-

“You know you should really work on your gag reflex.”

That had been two November twentieths ago. 

He asked Bill once, “Don’t you wish people could just be, you know, honest about how they feel?” 

And Bill had looked at him blankly before saying, “I’m not sure if I know what you mean by that.” Eddie suddenly felt so embarrassed and regretted having said anything at all. 

Behind the steering wheel, sitting beside him, if Eddie were to ask Richie that same question, he was sure the other boy would be even more weirded out than Bill was. He didn’t know when everyone around him seemed to stop feeling things. It was like pulling teeth sometimes to get Richie to say if something was bothering him.

“Eddie, you okay?” Richie asked, disrupting Eddie’s thoughts. Eddie huffed.

“What if I said no?” 

Richie seemed to be getting aggravated. Eddie didn’t reply. 

A while passed before Eddie said, “Can we grab dinner soon?” Richie nodded, and Eddie made the mistake of looking over at the other boy, observing the way the light hit his black curls which were frizzing at the ends. He inhaled. 

He really did spite Richie. Thanks to him, Eddie was even more paranoid that someone might steal the journal he kept, or read a certain page by accident. But he couldn’t exactly have erased June fifteenth, or else he might have forgotten it. And so Eddie was bold that he wrote down:

6/15/96  
Ask mom for money for new swimsuit, stay over Richie’s.

Richie kissed me. 

I don’t know why.

He didn’t know why. 

They finally stopped at some western themed diner where Richie ordered pancakes and Eddie ordered a grilled cheese. Normalcy seemed to fall over them again.

“Eds, aren’t you excited? We’re almost to the Grand Canyon!” 

“Can that nickname die already?” Eddie sighed. “And yeah, I guess I am excited. Even though it’s kind of strange to be thrilled over a giant hole.”

"Giant hole, ugh, reminds me of your mom,” Richie joked, grinning wildly while Eddie pretended to gag. He patted Eddie on the back, as if to prevent him from choking. 

Then Eddie couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “God, you’re the worst.”

“Yeah, but you love me.”

Eddie stiffened.

“Shit, I didn’t mean…” Richie scratched the side of his head. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He then reached out, putting his hand over Eddie’s for reassurance, to which Eddie relaxed. 

“An order of pancakes?” 

Eddie sharply pulled his hand away as the waitress handed Richie his plate. They ate in silence, creating a barrier of humidity in between their space despite the dry desert surrounding them. It was all too much. Richie wasn’t the type to ask if there was something wrong, but it was written all over his face. So badly Eddie just wanted him to ask:

“Did I do something to make you mad?” 

So that Eddie could speak to Richie truthfully rather than skirting around how they felt. 

Richie ate like he hadn't in days. Eddie got a box for his grilled cheese, and they left. In the car, Eddie looked back into the diner and his eyes met the waitress. She reminded him of his mother, and she sort of looked at him in the same way, as if she disapproved. He looked away.

It was getting late. The Grand Canyon would have to wait. Outside, they seemed to have found themselves stranded in the desert. But it was pretty. The stars looked so much brighter than the ones in Maine. Richie pulled over. 

"It's beautiful out here," Eddie said, marveling at the sky. Wordlessly, Richie drove onto the sand until they were secluded. 

"We can look at the stars," Richie said. "Um, if you want to." Eddie nodded, smiling. Richie threw a blanket over the back of the truck and patted beside him. Eddie climbed up, holding onto Richie's hand to hoist himself onto the blanket. 

Richie lied down, using his hands behind his head as his pillow. Eddie did the same. 

"I've never understood constellations," Eddie said. "I don't think the stars even remotely make the shapes people say they do. Like, the Big Dipper does not look like a spoon in a bowl. It looks more like a broken golf club."

"Well," Richie said. "I think they use them more, for like, science reasons. I couldn't tell you what, but I think it's science."

"That still doesn't explain why they named them so stupid," Eddie muttered. "People make up all this stuff about stars and what they mean about a person. Why can't they just be pretty as they are?"

Richie propped himself up on his elbows so he was looking at Eddie. "So you think stars are just stars, no deeper meaning?" 

"Yeah. I mean, other than the science ones. I also don't know how science works." 

Eddie figured this might be out of character for a guy who tends to overanalyze things to the brink of insanity. But the thing is, he only does it with Richie. There's no one else he stares at enough to try and figure out what exactly they mean.

But there's also no one else who looks at him, who really looks at him…

Richie passed Eddie the bottle of whiskey he had stolen from his dad. Eddie hated how it tasted, but loved how warm it felt in his chest. But something about it made him feel desperately incomplete. It was drawing out all of his wantings, which were so terribly linked to the guy who was sitting beside him, lanky legs stretched out over his lap. 

They didn't drink much. They were tipsy at most, but later they would convince themselves that they were drunk. 

"Do you think I'm weird?" Eddie had asked. "Like, do you think I'm different than other people?"

Richie shook his head. "You're not weird. And if you are, I must be too, because you feel perfectly normal to me."

"I don't think you're weird, though," Eddie said. "You do stuff. Like, you're a class clown, right, and people might say they don't like you, but they talk to you. They only talk to me if it's to call me a fag, or ask if they can copy my homework. And you hook up with girls." He began to play with the fabric of Richie's fraying jeans. 

"But you're not queer. They say that to everyone." He means to say it to be reassuring, but it stings.

"Richie…" Eddie replied, looking at him desperately, trying to make him understand without having to come out and say it-

Richie touched the skin where his hair met his neck, holding it still with his palm before slotting their lips together. It was short. Maybe three seconds. Eddie leaned into the touch but was careful not to come across as wanting more. Not that he didn't, because he did, but… 

Richie pulled away. "See? Not queer." He smiled like he was proud of himself, and Eddie had to laugh. Something about the whiskey made him have to laugh.

"I dunno if that proves you're not queer, dude." 

They hadn't talked about that night again, and now it was a year later.

"Yeah, I don't think either of us know how science works," Richie said. 

Eddie opened his journal and jotted down,

Went to diner in AZ. Looked at stars in desert.

-

Richie woke up on the back of his truck with his head nestled into Eddie's shoulder. Even after a week on the road, he felt disoriented waking up outside his bedroom. It took him a moment, or two, to remember exactly where he was. And when he saw Eddie beside him, he smiled, before realizing it was *Eddie* and quickly sitting up. He fully intended on getting a hotel room or at least pulling over somewhere less shady than the middle of the desert, completely out in the open.

And it was hot. Richie's curls were sticking to his forehead, and he realized he was in desperate need of a summer haircut. Maybe he could ask Eds to do it. And then his fingers would be in his hair and-

Richie's thoughts were disturbed by Eddie letting out a sleepy sigh and sitting up. 

"Good morning," Eddie said. His blonde hair looked golden under the sun. He looked incredible. When they were kids, Richie once told Eddie, that if he were a girl, he'd marry him. Or vice versa. 

"Morning," Richie replied. 

-

When they got back on the road, Eddie seemed to be in a better mood than the day before. And when they got to the Grand Canyon, Eddie was unreasonably sweet. 

In actuality, maybe he was just acting normal and Richie was thinking of it all wrong. They were always affectionate toward each other, so why did it feel odd when Eddie grabbed onto his forearm for support or rested a hand on his shoulder? And why was Richie suddenly so self-conscious about how sweaty he was getting while walking? 

To make matters worse, the Grand Canyon was really freaking him out. 

It honestly baffled him, considering it was supposed to be, like, a wonder of the world or something. And he's never been afraid of heights. But the Grand Canyon was kind of fucked up.

For one thing, the park ranger informed them that it was 277 miles deep, and over the last few days, Richie learned how long 277 miles really is. And he couldn't help but imagine how long it would take to fall to the bottom. And then would anyone recover the body? It wouldn't even be that hard to jump, he realized. The thought was so strong it terrified him. Eddie must have realized there was something off, because he wrapped his arm around his shoulder and said, "Hey, is everything alright?" 

"Yeah."

"Did you see that woman over there? She's wearing high heels. Six inch heels to the Grand Canyon." Eddie reached out and touched his cheek to cue Richie to look at him. 

Richie laughed. "Who would do that?"

"No one," Eddie said, smiling. "I just made you look."

Richie was really getting sick and tired of Arizona heat. He wasn't cut out to survive in the desert. 

Later on, they got a motel room, and Eddie was wearing a cardigan. Because Eddie was always cold somehow. And Richie thought the cardigan looked really soft and almost wanted to touch it but thought that would probably be weird, so he switched gears to looking at the takeout menu while Eddie was lying down with his eyes closed, eyelashes fanned out over his freckled cheeks. 

They were on separate beds, of course, but they were about an inch away from each other, which was way too close and yet too far for Richie's liking. But he definitely didn't want to share a bed, the thought made him incredibly uneasy. He thinks about waking up besides Eddie on his truck, and that sinking feeling he had in his stomach when he realized who he was next to. 

He knew there was no way he wanted to go any further with that line of thought, because it made him nauseous. Maybe nauseous wasn't the word. But it made him so incredibly overwhelmed it hurt his chest. 

Eddie opened his eyes and caught Richie staring, smiling as their gazes met. He proceeded to sit down next to Richie and look over at the takeout menu. They were sitting so close that their shoulders were touching. 

"I'm tired of Chinese food," Eddie complained before he leaned back, kicking his legs on top of Richie's lap and lying down. 

They decided on Italian. Richie went inside by himself to pick up their order and was greeted by a young kid with bleached hair covering his eyes.

"Hey man," the kid said.

"Hey," Richie said, while opening his wallet. 

"You look like you could use some cheese with that."

Richie blinked. "Excuse me?" The kid gave him a Look. 

He lowered his voice. "Do you want herb?" 

Seriously, cheese? But Richie was focusing more on the prospect of getting high, knowing Eddie might lightly disapprove. But his nerves have been so high the last few days, he thinks it might be best for him to just release his inhibitions. 

"Uh, yeah." The kid walked behind a counter, and Richie looked around the restaurant, at the bad, faux-classy wallpaper and the paper placemats at the empty tables. When the kid returned, he placed a small paper bag into Richie's takeout. Richie paid him promptly and exited. 

When back at the motel, Eddie was sitting on Richie's bed, writing in that damn notebook. Richie gave him his spaghetti and they ate in silence before Richie asked, "Do you want weed?" 

Eddie looked at him, bewildered. "When have you ever known me to want weed." It was a question that had the intonation of a statement.

"There's a time for everything. Plus, you don't have any excuses now. We both know you're not asthmatic."

"Maybe not," Eddies said. "But it feels that way when I'm having a panic attack. And the thought of doing drugs makes me pretty damn anxious."

"It's weed not heroin," Richie said. "But that's fine. I figured I might as well offer." He took out the eighth secured inside the small, paper, bag and set it on the dresser next to the bed as well as the cigars he bought from the gas station he stopped at on his way back and got to work. Eddie stared at him for a moment before fidgeting with the radio. 

A car crash on 72 has left a police officer in critical-

The recent death of 25 year old- 

And now back to today's top 40-

And here are some special Oldies tunes Coconino County, kicking it off with The Ronnettes. 

Eddie kept that station on. While Richie was lighting the blunt pinched between his fingers, Eddie turned around and said, "I want to hit it."

"Huh?"

"Is that, like, the right terminology?" Eddie asked.

"No, yeah. I just didn't think you wanted to."

"Well, I do." Richie could tell Eddie was determined by the way his eyes narrowed, so he figured there was no use in talking out of a potentially regretful situation. So at that, Richie patted the space next to him. Taking the blunt from Richie, Eddie looked up and asked, "How the fuck do you do this?"

"Let me help you," Richie replied, moving Eddie fingers to hold the blunt properly and flicking his lighter. "Now you're gonna have to inhale and hold it for a few seconds. Hold it in your nose than exhale." 

Eddie failed miserably. "I don't think I got anything."

"Don't suck in so much. Just inhale. Like you're breathing."

"I didn't think smoking weed required skill," Eddie relented. Richie laughed.

"Do you want me to show you how it's done?" 

"Oh, sure, Mr. Tozier. Please show me the proper weed smoking etiquette."

Richie took the blunt and pressed it lightly between his lips, closing his eyes while he inhaled. When he looked back over at Eddie, his eyes were glued to the smoke escaping his parted lips. 

"Okay, let me try again." 

Eddie failed again. Richie took another hit and looked at Eddie with his furrowed brows, looking all cute and frustrated. It was driving him crazy. "Uh, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but we could try, uh, I could blow it into your mouth."

"People do that?" Eddie raised an eyebrow. Oh fuck.

"Yeah," Richie said. 

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, do it." Eddie wrapped his arms around himself.

"Oh, alright." 

The air in the motel room felt thick as Richie took a big hit and cupped his hands to Eddie's parted lips, blowing into his mouth while he inhaled. 

"Okay, I think I got it that time," Eddie said.

"Again?" Richie asked. Eddie nodded. This time, Richie put his lips against Eddie's, creating a seal for Eddie to inhale. It was way too close to kissing him.

It was way too close to kissing him, and so Richie made an effort to angle his body away afterwards, not wanting to look at Eddie. He didn't want to fuck up. There was a time during their junior year that he found himself thinking about kissing Eddie a lot. It was from a pure aspect of curiosity, he was sure of it, but the image wouldn't stop popping up in his mind at the most inconvenient moments.

And then… at one point he did, but it wasn't a big deal. They were drunk. And yet, he still found himself thinking about it from time to time. Sometimes he thought about what it would be like to do to Eddie what he would do to a girl, and he would end up releasing into his hand with those thoughts on his mind.

It disturbed him. Or, well, it overwhelmed him. 

He took another hit off the blunt. His brain was starting to float. Eddie was giggling and playing with the fraying denim of Richie's shorts. 

"Why'd you turn away from me?" Eddie asked. He gently turned Richie's head to look back in his direction. "I like looking at you." 

"Why?" Richie asked, genuinely confused.

Eddie moved his hand up further so it was resting on Richie's thigh. "Because you're beautiful." 

"Eddie I don't know if I-" Richie started, interrupting himself with a gasp as Eddie's moved his hand so it was an inch away from his crotch. "Okay, okay, okay."

"Okay?" Eddie asked.

"Okay," Richie responded, resting his forehead against Eddie's while Eddie moved to unzip Richie's shorts. 

Eddie palmed him through his boxers, not daring to get rid of the thin layer of fabric between them, and Richie choked out a strangled noise, hiding his face in Eddie's t-shirt which was comforting as it smelt so strongly of him. And he was just closing his eyes and feeling him, and it was so disgustingly intimate that he wanted to puke. 

"Richie, are you okay?"

"Not exactly. But please don't stop, okay?"

"Okay."

They fell asleep in Richie's bed together.

-

6/16/9

Went to the Grand Canyon  
Richie and I

He couldn't finish writing his thought. They did what? Eddie looked over at where Richie was lying, hugging a pillow where Eddie's own body was once resting. 

we smoked weed.

There was something he didn't expect to ever be writing. Was it bad that it gave him a sort of giddy thrill? He had thought about his mother as he took the blunt from Richie's hands, and he thought about what it means to be cool.

Richie was kind of cool. Like, he was way cooler than him, and it kind of got on Eddie's nerves.

4/20/97

Calc exam. Probably did OK

Richie skipped school to smoke with that girl from our English class.

And objectively Eddie knew Richie was actually lame as hell. He still wore those ridiculous coke-bottle glasses and made your mom jokes. He was still the kid who would eat real, live worms on the playground in elementary school.

But in high school, sometimes he would show up to school with hickies on his neck.

Fuck, Eddie was reverting back to being annoyed at Richie again. It seemed like an aggressive cycle. Yesterday, he adored Richie, and today, he hated him. He was still waiting for that moment when Richie might ask him what's wrong or why he was pissier than usual. Eddie wanted him to want to know.

When Richie’s eyes began to flutter open, Eddie quickly looked away, frowning. If Richie knew, would he think he was a pervert? I mean, he had touched him… Speaking of which, Eddie could see from his peripheral vision that Richie was taking off his dirty boxers, probably due to the fact that they must have been terribly uncomfortable. And then he went for a shower.

And of course he returned in a ridiculous fluffy bathrobe, which Eddie might comment on if it wasn’t for Richie looking so uncharacteristically bashful. It was cute. Eddie decides to comment anyway.

“You look cute.”

“Oh, shut up,” Richie groans, rolling his eyes, thinking Eddie must be joking. “We all know you’re the cute one, Eds. Cute, cute, cute.” He walks over to where Eddie is sitting and pinches his cheek before grabbing his clothes to get changed. Eddie frowned. 

When they got back on the road, the silence between theme felt so tense, and Eddie wondered if Richie could feel it too. He wondered if Richie was also preoccupied by the possibility that they might accidentally brush arms or catch each others’ eyes for a moment too long. It was so overwhelming to him that it made his heart race. In a separate time of his life, he might have reached for his inhaler. But instead, he flips through the pages of his journal and calms himself down by looking at the organization of events, the dates written in the top right corner with a ballpoint pen. Calm. Orderly.

Nothing like Richie, who was chaotic and ate up his insides.

They were headed to California, planning to get there by sunset. Eddie knew Richie was excited to see Hollywood, knew he had bigshot dreams. He was embarrassed to admit it, but he did.

“Do ya think we’ll have any celebrity sightings, Eds?” Richie asked.

“Hmm. Maybe.” He was too tired to express his mock disdain for the nickname given to him. 

“Who would you want to see?”

Eddie mused over this. “Maybe Harrison Ford.”

Richie raised an eyebrow. “Indiana Jones? Why him? You’re still into that action hero stuff?”

Eddie said, without thinking, “Because he’s handsome.” 

Richie missed a beat. “Oh.” He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “He’s gotta be kind of old by now. You into that? I mean, it works for me and your mom-”

“-Oh, shut up.”

-

Richie can’t stop thinking, his heart can’t stop pounding. He’s looking back at every aspect in his life to figure out when this first began. Eddie has always been his favorite, because he can spit fire back at him when he makes his dumbass jokes. And he was also cute, and then they got older, and he became… What did he become? Hot. More than hot, beautiful. He was beautiful. 

And Eddie thought Harrison Ford was handsome. What did that mean? Was he gay? Was it gay when Eddie touched him, when he came into his hand…

And more importantly, was that okay? Was it gross, dirty? Richie kind of felt gross. But that didn’t mean… That didn’t mean he didn’t like it. In fact, he couldn’t stop thinking about Eddie, about his mouth, his legs. How he was tanned from the summer sun, how his shorts crept up his thighs. The thoughts weren’t new, they were just louder in his head. 

He was tired of driving. He was tired of not being able to reach out and hold the hand of his best friend. It was getting later, and they were almost there. Eddie, Richie noticed, was beginning to drift off in the passenger’s seat.

“Eddie,” Richie said.

“Huh?”

“Stay awake.”

He groaned. “I’m tired. Didn’t sleep well.”

“I’m driving your ass across the country. Wake up.” Richie started scanning the street signs to find a rest stop to get gas.

“No, you’re driving your own sorry ass. I’m just here for company.”

“Shut up, you love my ass.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

Richie was pulling into the gas station at a rest stop, when he said something stupid. “Eddie?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m handsome?” He was being earnest, but he knew he could play it off as a joke. “Like Indiana Jones?”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have to make fun of me,” he muttered. Oh shit.

“Eds, I’m not-”

“-Whatever. I need to go take a piss.” He slammed the car door. Fuck. Richie was screwed. He ran his hands through his hair in exasperation before something caught his eye.

It was that journal Eddie always carried around. It must have fallen out of his pocket and fell open to a certain page. And Richie saw his name, printed neatly in ink. Really, he didn't mean to read it. The words jumped at him, make it impossible to look away. 

6/15/96  
Ask mom for money for new swimsuit, stay over Richie’s.

Richie kissed me. 

I don’t know why.

And then followed by

6/16/96  
I think I'm -

with a short word scribbled out. Holding the book in his hands for further inspection, Richie could tell what word it was from the tail of the "y” at the end. He stared with wide eyes, too dazed to realize that Eddie had reentered the car.

“What the fuck.”

Richie’s head snapped up to see Eddie with hurt eyes, his mouth drawn into a tight line. “Richie why would you-” He stopped himself. He took the journal from Richie’s hands, seeing the page it was opened to. “-oh my god. I’m so sorry. Richie… I’m sorry I… I’m sorry.” 

Eddie’s heart was beating rapidly, threatening an oncoming panic attack, made worse by Richie’s slack, emotionless face. 

“Richie, please say something.”

Richie laughed. “I thought you forgot about that night,” he muttered. 

“Are you mad at me?”

“No.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay.”

Richie pressed the gas pedal and they returned to the road again. “Does this mean…” Richie struggled for a joke. “...we’re gonna have to listen to Cher now?”

“Beep, beep,” Eddie said, less annoyed and more relieved. Richie’s thoughts were simply falling into a constant stream of Eddie Eddie Eddie Eddie followed by every term for gay, queer, fag. He had let Eddie touch him, he had wanted it. Did that make him the same as Eddie? Did Eddie… like him?

They fell into old banter on the road for the next five consecutive hours. Then silence. Then Eddie falling asleep in the passenger seat and Richie nearly crashing after finding himself preoccupied by Eddie’s shorts riding up his thighs and his dark eyelashes fanning over his freckled cheeks. When they finally got to their motel, Richie gently pushed on Eddie’s shoulder to wake him up.

“Come on, cutie,” Richie murmured. “We’re here.” Eddie’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Mmm,” he said. 

-

In the hotel, Eddie went to the bathroom to change into his pj’s and Richie felt bad that he felt like he couldn’t change in front of him. Not that… he wanted Eddie to strip for him or anything. That’s not what he meant. He just wanted to feel him again… feel his hand against his-

What did that say about him? 

And then Eddie reemerged in his boxers and a faded, grey t shirt, and Richie thought it might be the most breathtaking thing he had ever seen. “Eddie,” he breathed.

“What?” Eddie asked confused. He sat down on the bed beside him. 

“Do you think I’m handsome?” he softened his voice this time. 

Eddie studied his face to make sure he wasn’t being messed with. “I don’t think so,” Eddie said. “You aren’t. You shouldn’t be. But some people seem to be all about you. Some of the girls at school. And it’s stupid, you’re all gawky and stuff, but…” Eddie breathed. “But I don’t know. There’s something about you I can’t place. And sometimes, in the right lighting, you’re the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“Wow,” Richie whispered. “You know how to make a guy feel special.”

“What about you?” Eddie asked. 

“Me?” 

“Do you think I’m handsome?”

“I don’t think I’m gay,” Richie said. “But… But sometimes when I think about you, I get off.”

Eddie moved his hand, covering Richie’s knuckles with his fingers. Richie turned his hand and interlocked them. 

“What about you?” Richie asked. 

“What about me?”

“Do you ever think about… me?”

Eddie’s cheeks turned red. “I think about a lot of things.” He sighed. “It wouldn’t gross you out? If you turned me on?” Richie shook his head. “Well you do. Sometimes when you sit too close to me or just when you’re around.” 

“Fuck, Eds,” Richie choked out. “We’re fucked up.” And then he leaned forward and Eddie leaned forward and they were kissing, slow and deliberate. For the first time, Richie had clarity. And when they pulled away this time, Richie leaned in again and again until the kisses became more desperate, mouths open and legs pressed together. 

Richie placed his hands against Eddie’s shoulder and felt him begin to shake beneath him. When he pulled away, he noticed Eddie was on the verge of crying. “Richie…” he said. “Richie… I love you. Please. I love you. I love you.” He was hinging on manic, and Richie held him against his chest. “Richie I love you.” He kissed Eddie’s head. 

“It’s okay,” Richie whispered. “I love you, Eddie. It’s okay.”

And it was okay.

**Author's Note:**

> hope u enjoyed this messy bullshit. if you wanna chat my tumblr is at cowboyqueer!


End file.
